I tried to think of a kinder, softer, gentler way to say that but there isn't one. It isn't kind, soft, gentle news. Things were fine and then they weren't.

Pao was on his way to work. I was getting ready to bake a sweet ass cake for my mom.

Then blood. It was just that fast.

"The ultrasound shows no heartbeat. I'm sorry. It's nothing you did, there was nothing you could have done."

I just stared and nodded. Paolo maybe said "thank you." I'm not sure. He's polite that way, but that's the thing about processing stuff is sometimes you don't.

I dont know how to process this. So we sat, alternating between stunned silence and shameless sobbing.

They told me I will need a procedure. They gave me a number to call and schedule. They told me to take tylenol. They printed a few papers for us and then left us alone in a room to leave and go on about our day whenever we were ready.

We weren't ready. We're still not ready.

We couldn't think of anything to do, so we made phone calls.

The place doesn't take my insurance and my insurance can't find anyplace to do the procedure that does. There are some issues since it's the same procedure used to provide safe abortions.

But I don't want or need an "abortion." This baby was loved and wanted. This is not a voluntary termination - but even if it was it shouldn't be this way.

Sticky has a big head and little arms and legs and hands and feet ... and no heartbeat.

This isn't an "abortion" - this is a procedure I need so that I don't go septic as Sticky's little body starts breaking down.

I was - and still am - angry that rather than being allowed to process and grieve the loss of our baby, we were forced to immediately begin fighting with doctors and insurance companies.

Paying cash at planned parenthood is my next option, but we wont know for sure til next week since every doctor's office we can call is closed for the weekend.

In speaking with other friends who have lost pregnancies it seems this is normal.

One of my mother's best friends had to wait a month. The hospital said if I spike a fever or things seem infected to come back.

I am in no immediate danger. I am in pain.

We hugged in the parking lot and cried. Then drove to Panera almost on autopilot. I laughed through my tears as we pulled into the plaza:

"Hey remember that baby store we talked about but I couldn't remember where it was? Found it."

We tried to be normal. We drove home. Made calls. Ran errands. We wandered a shopping mall we hadn't been to in years.

We mindlessly meandered through the Halloween section at Target. We gripped hands a little tighter every time we passed baby stuff or pregnant women or a baby.

Maybe home would be safer.

Nope. There are reminders everywhere, even in the mirror. I still LOOK pregnant. My arm is bruised and covered in adhesive from my IV port.

I played video games so I didnt have to think. Skyrim, in particular, if you're wondering what video games one plays when one loses ones child. We ate dinner. It tasted like nothing. We went to bed early.

I don't remember sleeping.

But that brings us to now. To me in the bath tub while he "sleeps" ... we have to tell the kids. They were so excited. This is a hard lesson for us all. We will have to tell the state. We will have to pretend to have answers and pretend to have it together and pretend to be functional.

I will take Tylenol because yes this hurts. The female medic told me I may bleed like a normal period. I guess I should buy pads, though this is far from a normal period.

I guess we are supposed to just keep living like normal. But there isn't a normal right now. I don't know normal right now.

So here is what I DO know:

I am loved.

I am physically going to be okay.

Paolo and I have a wonderful support system.

This will not destroy us as a union - some people isolate during these types of tragedies, but the first thing we both did was dive in and check on one another.

Our medical system once again proves it is broken and not designed for peace or dignity for women.

Crying is exhausting. So is fighting. But those are our only options right now, so in 40 minutes it will be time to pick up my proverbial sword again and make phone calls. This time to "abortion clinics" to get their pricing on this.

Heartbroken is not a big enough word. Yes, I'm sad. But I'm also confused, furious, feeling cheated, stunned by how unfair life can be, annoyed by so many little things and I am feeling a heaping helping of self pity and so much sadness for Paolo. He would have been - he was, he IS - an incredible father.

... now, having typed all of this I am emotionally spent. I'm sure I missed something. I would bet money that this was rambling and confusing. If it is, then it's an accurate reflection of our minds and hearts right now.

I'm going to go lay next to my love now and just... breathe. That's about all I got.